


Mountie Upon A Time

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-27
Updated: 1999-02-27
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Once upon a time...





	Mountie Upon A Time

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Mountie Upon a Time.....

##  **Mountie Upon a Time.....**

By TimBeastie 

email   
  


Rating: PG (ish) 

Usual Disclaimers: Non mine et cetera et cetera... 

For: SMALL and P   
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

His hose was tight, very tight and pinched in the most uncomfortable way. Luckily there was a handy shrub nearby.   
  


Considerably relieved Constable Benton Fraser RCMP took stock of his surroundings. His clear eyed gaze wandered over the distant pocket hankie sized fields dotted here and there with white blobs which had all the appearances of sheep safely grazing. Closer by his glance happened upon a quartet of quite astoundingly large members of the rabbit family crunching happily on dime-sized carrots, apart that is from one lone bunny who seemed to prefer a diet of choice polka dotted hat.   
  


Ah and.....the tower, white topped and ebony black rising like some magician's cane 3 ft to his left. Impossible to miss once you saw it.   
  


His neck cracked audibly as he strained to catch sight of the top of the edifice which to his fairly jaundiced eye seemed to have been designed by an afficionado of the school of post-modern kitsch. [Catty!] thought he scoldingly. Pursing his lips and cocking his head to one side he tried for a more objective view.   
  


It was a round tower with three windows, on his side at least. Topmost was a chunky square window, while the middle one was basically a porthole. The nearest one was arched, giving a hefty nod to gothic revivalism. The Mountie's experienced eye gauged the tower to be all of 44 metres, give or take a half centimetre on either side. This was verified with a quick handspan check and count of the brickwork. Ben drew back satisfied that his eyesight hadn't deteriorated quite as much as he had feared.   
  


"Hoy you!"   
  


His head jerked up and he tried to decide which of the windows the oh so familiar voice had well *yelled* from. Hmm the tone was familiar too.   
  


"Fraser is that you?"   
  


His superior officer's face suddenly appeared at the arched window. She looked different somehow, and considerably annoyed, but that, he mused, was nothing out of the ordinary. Ben frowned trying to figure out what was.   
  


"Oh!" Enlightenment dawned.   
  


"Your hair!" He yelled back.   
  


"It's yellow!"   
  


Meg shut her eyes and counted to 10, then added 15 for good measure.   
  


"I'll have you know that a) I know that and b) it's not *yellow* - it's golden." She shrugged her tresses petulantly over her shoulder as best she could.   
  


"Of course...golden." Ben agreed quickly.   
  


"It's quite a bit longer than it was isn't it?" He observed trying for tactful. "Uh is it a wi..?" Ben stopped himself just in time, just in case. After all his honest comments on her new short dark style had gone down like a lead donut.   
  


"No it is *not* a wig." That had been a painful experiment but yes every long golden *flipping* metre was, apparently, hers. She was, she felt, extremely entitled to be tetchy on the subject.   
  


"Yes it *is* longer, and no I do not know why it is longer and for that matter neither do I have a clue as to how or why I'm stuck up here." She gestured wildly around her.   
  


"What I do know is that I want to get down pronto so get thinking Mister Mountie." She concluded in her best "and that's an order" tones with a none too subtle undertone of help!   
  


"Oh dear!" Ben scratched his head awkwardly.   
  


"You'll get splinters!" Meg simply couldn't resist the traditional cry.   
  


Ben looked at his fingernails automatically.   
  


"Oh, a joke." Well it was good that she retained her sense of humour he supposed.   
  


A thought struck him. Oh well in for a penny...only if this didn't work he'd be pounded all right.   
  


"Inspector." he called.   
  


"You've come up with a cunning plan to get me out of here?" Meg leaned her head against the palms of her hands looking unconvinced.   
  


Ben looked worried, Meg sounded, he hesitated to use the word, even in the confines of his own mind, but *pissed* did fit the bill rather neatly.   
  


"How long is your hair?"   
  


"Oh the usual, 37 metres. I think that pot of plant food Turnbull managed to spill over me last week finally got going." She couldn't help snickering as she recalled the scene, or rather the punishment she had meted out to the unfortunate Mountie. However lion "patties" were reckoned to make excellent fertiliser and was it her fault the zookeepers were too busy to collect it for themselves?   
  


"If you can wrap your hair round something then throw the rest down to me I can climb up."   
  


"You what?!"   
  


"Have you ever read the story of Raypunzel?" he called hopefully.   
  


"Ray who?" Meg felt her hackles rising. If not Vecchio or Kowalski this Punzel was sure to follow in the grand tradition of creating Mountie mayhem.   
  


"It's a fairy story."   
  


"Fraser do I look like Mother Goose? I do not have time for fairy stories. Get me out of here! Oh and I believe I spy a flaw in your ever so brilliant plan." Meg bent out of the window as far as she dared.   
  


"If you climb up here then we're both stuck."   
  


"I have a knife." He retrieved it from his jerkin and held it up for her to see.   
  


"I can cut your hair off and we'll both use it as a rope." He explained.   
  


Comprehension dawned. There was a pause.   
  


"Right oh." she said rather more enthusiastically and withdrew.   
  


A minute or so later her long golden tresses were launched vigorously from the window.   
  


Ben strode forward and grasped the hair firmly.   
  


He hauled his way up the side of the tower slowly for the hair was rather slippery and to his surprise his palms were slick with sweat. At 6 metres he was forced to give up.   
  


He landed with a resounding thud on the lush grass surrounding the tower.   
  


Meg felt the difference immediately and made her way awkwardly to the windowsill.   
  


"What happened?" She looked askance at sitting Mountie.   
  


"Sorey. I'm afraid it's not as easy as it looked. I'll have to find some way to gain more purchase. Don't worry I'll be back."   
  


Meg looked all the way down at her hair blowing softly in the slight breeze.   
  


[It looks *easy*? Yeah like jumping off tall buildings with a single bound easy!]   
  


"Sure." She shrugged. She figured she wasn't going anywhere soon.   
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  


Ben circled the tower seeking inspiration. Some dry dust would have been ideal but there had obviously been a heavy shower recently.   
  


"Botheration!" he exclaimed kicking a small stone lying in his path with unwonted viciousness. However he had singularly failed to remember that Mountie issue boots and soft leather boots constructed to a design popular circa the Middle Ages had vastly differing pain protection properties. This was soon remedied.   
  


As he hopped clutching his hot throbbing toes a soft, small and desperately unhappy "quack" distracted his sense of hearing from joining his other senses in a rousing chorus of "A Mountie's Agony".   
  


"Quack!" much louder.   
  


"Quack!!" louder still.   
  


Ben gave up on his selfish painfilled toes and looked round for the source.   
  


A small white fluffy bundle gazed tearfully up at the bemused but sympathetic Constable.   
  


"Yes?"   
  


"Quaack!!!"   
  


"Oh dear. Do they really?"   
  


[sniffle] "quack"   
  


"But why?"   
  


"Quack quack."   
  


"Oh you're not. I can assure you of that." Ben knelt by the side of the downy creature and patted it's head reassuringly.   
  


"Quack!"   
  


"Sorry. I'm not being patronising really I'm not."   
  


The young bird rearranged its feathers in an "OK I'll believe you." sort of way and gave a soft quackie sigh. Then with a waggle of its tailfeathers it wend its way round the Mountie and waddled off towards the small weedstrewn pond lying to the right.   
  


Ben twisted round still kneeling and watched its heavy hearted progress.   
  


[Aw poor thing]   
  


He frowned, got to his feet and bounded after the unhappy bird.   
  


"You're not ugly. In fact you're not even a duck!" he gasped confronting it just at the edge of the pond.   
  


"Quack?!" [ie are you *out* of your tadpole sized mind?] {Author's note: Universal Translator just kicked in here [g]}   
  


"You're a swan!" exclaimed the Mountie expecting joy unconfined.   
  


"Quack." [Yeah right!]   
  


"But you are. I happen to have read extensively on the subject of the indigenous birdlife of North America. In my grandparent's library..."   
  


"Quack!" [Oh due shut your yap and gimme some facts!]   
  


"Ah" The fluffy creature was beginning to remind him of a not so fluffy Italian cop for some reason, hmm maybe it was the beak.   
  


Ben went on to explain in painful (to his listening audience at least) detail the minutiae of cygnet and duckling biology.   
  


"Quack!!" [OK OK I give in I'm a swan! However *did* I think I was one of the anas platyrhynchos anyways! Geez they are such snobs.]   
  


"Quack!" [Cygnus buccinator oh how very interesting. "Sonorous cry" \- ya mean I gotta learn a new language? Sheesh give a bird a break would ya!]   
  


The cygnet made good its escape by leaping into the pond and paddling frantically out of range.   
  


"Humph". [That's gratitude for you.]   
  


Nevertheless the reeds growing thickly by the water's edge gave him an idea. He knelt, leaned forward cautiously and began pulling hard at the nearest clump.   
  


"QUACK!!" [What the &(^&*^ due you think you're doing!!]   
  


This was no fluffy cygnet rather a trio of what Ben calculated to be adolescent ducks with attitude - bad attitude.   
  


"Sorey." apologised the Mountie looking guiltily at the dripping plantlife in his hand.   
  


"Quack, quack, quack!!" ["Sorey" don't cut it dude. C'mon Hughie, Duey let's get 'im]   
  


In a feathered flurry the ducks launched themselves buttwise - Benton's that is.   
  


"Glug, glug" went Fraser up to his fundamentals in slimy pondwater.   
  


The three ducks on the shore turned their collective backs, mooned the Mountie then sashayed off with fine feathered style.   
  


"Well don't just drip there."   
  


Benton crawled wearily from the pond and began picking off slimy bits and pieces of things he didn't care to examine too closely.   
  


He looked round for the owner of the new voice. Strange. He could see no one.   
  


"Down here moron."   
  


[Well golly gosh have I stumbled into Polite Land or what?]   
  


"Down...?" began Ben doubtfully then he saw.   
  


"Good gracious!"   
  


"Good has nuthin' ta do with it buster."   
  


A miniature man in raggedy jeans and a skin tight t-shirt sitting crosslegged on a small flamingo pink toadstool threw a wicked grin at the Mountie.   
  


"Gotcha good and proper eh? What a fowl thing to due. Guess you were the butt of that joke." gasped his new companion wheezing with unsuppressed laughter.   
  


Ben's sense of humour seemed to have gone on the fritz for he singularly failed to appreciate the little man's efforts.   
  


"So what's cookin' ? Why wuz ya after that weed? Ya gonna make sumthin' special for La Belle Margaret sans Merci in the tower there? Reed Roule perhaps. I due hear some like the reed" [wince]   
  


"How did you know her name?" Curiosity and good manners got the better of his baser instincts. Miniman football was still on the cards though.   
  


"Ah" smirk "Names are my particular speciality Benton." ingratiating smirk.   
  


Ben's toes twitched. The pain would be worth it.   
  


"Anyway I know what you're up to. Ya wanted to get a binding for your hands to climb her hair. You're way out with the weed though. Much too slimy and slippy. What ya need....well let's say I just might, might I say, be able to help ya."   
  


The little man twirled round and danced a few tango steps with an invisible partner.   
  


"You can? Great!"   
  


"'Cept....well if I give you sumthin' ta help ya get up there... ya gotta reciprocate."   
  


"Surely. Um I don't think I have any money on me right now but.." began Ben.   
  


"No no! Not money. Sumthin' ya know.....else." A very small knowing wink from a very small eye followed.   
  


"Oh my. Er just *what* did you have in mind?" ventured Ben with a great deal of trepidation.   
  


"C'mon I think the lady should be let in on this whole deal too." cried the little guy skipping away round the tower.   
  


"Oh dear." said Ben as his imagination began providing him with possible answers.   
  


He followed nevertheless as was his wont.   
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  


He arrived just in time to see the his tiny associate launch himself at Meg's hair.   
  


"Aargh!! Vermin!"   
  


Meg shook her hair vigorously against the side of the building trying to dislodge the said "vermin".   
  


"No wait stop!" cried Ben stretching out valiantly to catch the falling flailing person of restricted height.   
  


"Are you alright?" he asked anxiously, his nimble fingers grasping the very edge of the titchy t-shirt..   
  


"Yeah. No thanks to Mizz Frosty up there." There was a definite chill in the air.   
  


"Fraser what *are* you doing with that rat?" Meg's face peered from the window as she tried to figure out what her favourite infuriation was up to now.   
  


"Actually it's not a rat. Um it's well it's a..."   
  


"I think you'll find the word you're searching for there is "man"" suggested his companion in deceptively mild tones.   
  


"I do assure you that though I may be vertically challenged, at least I get ta use all my working parts." He looked straight at the Mountie.   
  


"Unlike some."   
  


"Fraser why are you holding a conversation with whatever the heck that is?"   
  


Meg interrupted Fraser's rising blush.   
  


"Look" said Fraser rather desperately and possibly typically avoiding issues. "How can you help us and what payment do you want?"   
  


"Well...I can give you the number of a good therapist for a start. She's a bit of a babe though. Catch my drift eh, eh?" Fraser's thumb was thoroughly and suggestively nudged.   
  


"I've got it!"   
  


"Yeah well do I want it? I don't think so." Sometimes the Mountie was too easy.   
  


"No I mean - if you were to take my knife to..to..Inspector Thatcher then she could cut her hair and climb down."   
  


"Yeah right. Alls ya gotta do is strap the equivalent of 300 lbs to my back - you get the picture? Hunh? Gee I'd be up there in three shakes of a millennium at least." Sarcasm dripped acidly from every syllable.   
  


"OK then how do you propose to help?"   
  


"Right here's the deal. Oh and do remember to tell Maggie with the long blond hair."   
  


Ben skipped over that and listened intently while Meg fairly eaten up with curiosity shifted herself further and further out the window until she was in imminent danger of succumbing to the fate of Newton's apple.   
  


The Mountie's reaction was somewhat predictable.   
  


"No I couldn't. I could *never* do that again. I'd be...hey anyway why do you want me to?"   
  


"Ah" grinned the mysterious little man hugging his reasons to his skinny chest. "Ya wouldn't necessarily have ta. Just guess my name an' you're off the hook. Now go on put the blonde outta her misery before she splats herself."   
  


"Oh!" Ben looked up and realised Thatcher's folly.   
  


"Meg!"   
  


"I'm fine, I'm fine." she mumbled as she struggled back into her prison, considerably embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping.   
  


Ben breathed a sigh of relief as she succeeded. But what had she heard? Anything? Everything? [Oh dear.]   
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  


"Soo..." began the Inspector with as much dignity as she could reasonably muster in the circumstances.   
  


"...what's the deal?"   
  


"Deal?" Disapproving and innocent was a difficult combination but the Constable just about pulled it off.   
  


"You and the munchkin. What's the forfeit and is it worth it?"   
  


"Ah." Ben looked...well embarrassed and avoided her penetrating gaze, preferring instead to take stock of the burgeoning rabbit population.   
  


"Go on spill. Face it I'm her only chance. Or maybe you prefer it this way. Forever out of your reach in her ivory tower, on a, well in a pedestal so to speak - same place ya put every dame?"   
  


Ben winced, that was a little too close to the truth.   
  


"Inspector! The truth is..well..this er...*person* has offered...."   
  


"Go on..go on." Let impatience be your watchword seemed to be the order of the day for this came from his boss and his rodently high companion.   
  


"His...well...epidermal um..."   
  


"The *word* is dandruff. I ain't too proud of it but what the heck, I shed like sugar frosting and I got a whole stash of the stuff. I mean ya never can tell when sumthin's gonna be useful."   
  


As if to demonstrate the veracity of his claim the small spiky head was shaken vigorously, producing a veritable spray of small flakes.   
  


"It's dandruff isn't it Fraser?"   
  


"Yes Sir."   
  


"Which is going to...?" [Like I *really* want details?]   
  


"Enable me to get an effective grip on your hair."   
  


"Ah." Meg considered the mental image thus conjured for a moment.   
  


"And the price?"   
  


"Either I..or rather we...guess his name or.." Ben could feel himself flushing red.   
  


"Or what? Come on I haven't got all day. Well I have but you will be on so much sentry duty you'll sleep standing up...."   
  


"I have to..<gulp>...sing."   
  


"Oh." [dear]   
  


"So anyway. What's so bad about that?" Meg was curious Ben hadn't seemed to mind bursting into song at the slightest hint on that long briefly romantic train journey - so what was his problem now?   
  


"I..er..couldn't help overhearing...the other Mounties...they were discussing my song, my voice. They weren't very....well they didn't find either to be to their taste I'm afraid." Ben cringed, *that* was the understatement of the millennium. Mounties could indeed be cruel to their own kind.   
  


Ben looked up to see how Meg was taking the news but she had gone from her window view. Actually she was frantically searching for some form of earplugs It didn't do not to be prepared for the worst she felt.   
  


[Damnit what can I use. I can't just stick my fingers in my ears \- he'd be so hurt. Oh silly me, the candle of course I'll just scrape enough off, should do nicely.]   
  


"Okay. You can do it." She called reappearing 5 minutes later.   
  


"Do what?"   
  


"What?"   
  


"I said do what?"   
  


"Sorry?"   
  


Ben gave up and turned to his chuckling associate who had astutely guessed the Inspector's ploy.   
  


"I don't see what's so funny."   
  


"Nuthin' nuthin' You ready to *sing* then? Or take a guess?"   
  


"Hmm Well based on my abnormally in depth research of traditional fairytales I would say that your name would most likely be - Rumpelstiltskin." Ben looked more confident that he felt.   
  


"Nah. Close but no ceegar."   
  


"Mmmm Close eh? Rumple something?"   
  


"Could be sumthin' like."   
  


"How many guesses do I get?" [Darn I should have asked that earlier.] 

"OK An I'm bein' generous here, let's say...five. Ya got 3 left."   
  


Ben looked dismayed.   
  


"Surely Rumplesomehing doesn't count."   
  


"Hey look who's makin' the rules? Not you I think compadre." Smug looks were in this season.   
  


[Doan wanna sing] pouted the Mountie to himself. What he hadn't told Meg was that his flakey friend wanted to record him singing to scare the crows from the cornfield over by 10 Actre Wood.   
  


A shriek split the deadlock.   
  


"Rumpledstanskin! Oh Rumpledstanskin!!"   
  


The rumpled one put his hands to his face.   
  


"No no no!"   
  


"Yes! Mr Rumpledstanskin I presume." grinned Ben happily let off the singing hook.   
  


"The dandruff's under that shrub in sack. Enjoy."   
  


Little Mr R having fulfilled his side of the bargain then took to his heels and made for the nearest burrow.   
  


Pursued 20 seconds later by an equally small and exceedingly petulant Miss/Ms or Mrs R who only paused to give Ben a very thorough *strip the Mountie* look.   
  


"Which way?"   
  


Ben, unable to tell a lie and in the face of her obvious interest, betrayed his new friend without a second thought and pointed to the burrow.   
  


"Thank you kindly." She bobbed her head and made for her less than significant other.   
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  


"Thank goodness the sack's dry." muttered Ben as he retrieved it and gingerly dipped his hand into what was 2.2 kilos of head fluff. He sincerely hoped there were no lice lurking within.   
  


Ben attached the sack to his belt and started up the hair rope. He made excellent progress this time and was soon hauling himself over the edge of the windowsill. As he tumbled into the gloom of the small round room he couldn't help but notice something rather odd.   
  


Surely the Inspector didn't take such a large size in footwear - did she? He turned over and looked up into the green sparkling eyes of....   
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  


Ben's nose twitched. He couldn't help it he was going to sneeze, he...   
  


"Atishoo!!"   
  


Meg's face swam to view; the little white feather she quickly whisked out of sight.   
  


"I saw that." accused Ben, his ever acute eyesight still on the ball.   
  


"Yeah well you were dreaming and I want to know *what* you were dreaming about sleeping beauty."   
  


The feather returned, only this time she drew it tantalisingly down his cheek.   
  


"Us." confessed Ben darting his hand fruitlessly for the fluffy object.   
  


"Ah ha!"   
  


"Ah ha nothing. Indeed it was a most peculiar dream....." Ben heaved a sigh and gazed up at his superior officer who drew back slowly with an enigmatic smile on her lips.   
  


"I'm most awfully sorry about this. How long have I been out?" Worried blue eyes searched her face for signs of trouble.   
  


"Oh I'd be guessing but I'd say about four hours...three minutes....51 seconds." She was giving nothing away. It appeared they had both perused the same body language manual.   
  


"No!" Ben was horrified but he could see by the fading light that the gloriously sunny day, the day they'd organised meticulously for three weeks had turned into a one man sleepover.   
  


"I like watching you sleep. Anyway you deserved it." Meg's facade cracked; she didn't seem too upset thankfully and she was perfectly correct after all. Someone who had spent the past 4 days going over the minutiae of the Consulate's account books for the Canadian nation's answer to the anti-Magoo was bound to be wacked.   
  


"And you don't snore.....much." she added with a twinkle.   
  


"Humph. I do not snore." complained Ben mock annoyed with accompanying pout.   
  


"Come here you." Losing all sense of Mountie decorum he pulled her down and kissed her rigorously.   
  


"Give in?"   
  


"Nope." Meg stuck her tongue out at him and smirked. Ben's eyes narrowed and he returned for seconds.   
  


"*Now* do you give in."   
  


"Never!". Declaimed Meg from her less then dignified position beneath the spreading chestnut tree.   
  


A tinny tiny bleeping noise interrupted their intense interpersonal communication.   
  


"Damn!" swore Meg reaching for her pager and her new crimson shoes in that order. Well, they might be feet flattering but they did pinch so.   
  


Ben got up and began packing the picnic away quietly and thoroughly.   
  


"Hmm. This shouldn't take me long, but I do have to go. You *could* come with me?" Meg sounded hopeful.   
  


"I'd like that." Ben clutched the picnic hamper to his chest, cocked his head to one side and shot her a small satisfied smile.   
  


"Yeah?"   
  


"Yeah."   
  


Mountie and Mountie hand in hand strode off down the winding path into the setting sun.   
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  


Behind them a white rabbit checked his fob watch again and again and muttered anxiously to himself   
  


"Oh my whiskers I'm late again. Oh dear!"   
  


"Have we missed them? Oh my!" twittered a trio of bluebirds anxiously swooping down to perch a la Disney on a nearby branch.   
  


"You see" cooed the first, bobbing its little head in toon bird fashion at the bemused rabbit, 

"We don't usually get to stay up *this* late."   
  


"No indeedy!" chorused the other two, linking wings.   
  


"We must follow them. We must!" Chattered the birds who rose as one from their temporary resting place and flew in ever increasing circles round the bunny's floppy ears.   
  


The blue leader broke formation for a moment and swooped to whisper to the little cottontail,   
  


"You see it is our sworn duty to prevent any...." The birdie coughed delicately, and its tiny feathers assumed a pinkish hue.   
  


"How shall I put it....."   
  


Both ears deflopped and stood to attention.   
  


"Forays into PG territory....or [whisper] worse!" 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  


**THE END**   
  



End file.
